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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481778">A Human Habit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes'>Herenya_writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fingernail biting is considered self harm on Vulcan, Jim is stressed, Light Angst, M/M, Spock is confused, because they deserve to be happy and safe and loved, fingernail biting, my Discord group said it was okay so I'm publishing it, no actual self harm occurs, no beta we die like men, so Spock gets worried, this is mostly Spock being confused while giving and receiving comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:33:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On Vulcan, biting one's nails is considered a sign of extreme distress and a grievous form of self-harm, so when Spock sees an ensign in sickbay biting her nails, he is appropriately concerned. He learns that it is a human habit, but that does not fully ease his worry, especially when he sees Jim exhibit similar behavior.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James T. Kirk/Spock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>281</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Human Habit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one-shot was born from a discussion that occurred on one of the Discord servers I'm on. It was ridiculously hard for me to write for some reason, and I'm still not sure I like it, but the Discord said it was okay, so it's the internet's problem now lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spock sat on the edge of a biobed in the medical bay, attempting to ignore the way Doctor McCoy was muttering under his breath. He was there for his quarterly physical, an appointment that had been rescheduled four times since the original date was set. The delays had been only in a very small part on account of his distaste for medical visits—the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been busy for the past two weeks attempting to forestall a civil war on the planet Rixas II. The mission had been a success, but the good doctor was unhappy about the delays, and Spock preferred to turn his attention elsewhere rather than listen to McCoy’s complaints.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, his eyes fixed on a young ensign across the med bay from him. The woman was lying at an angle against her pillows, her hands fidgeting in her lap. One leg was suspended above her—she had likely broken it and was waiting for the pre-procedure medication to take effect. He focused on the leg, attempting to ascertain the specific injury when movement from her hands drew his eye. She raised one hand to her mouth in an almost absent-minded gesture and began to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bite</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her nails. Spock barely suppressed a sharp intake of air. She did not seem particularly distressed physically or mentally, so why would she choose to injure herself in such a way? Before he could determine the motive for her actions, the ensign noticed his gaze and blushed deeply, dropping her hand to her lap once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spock. Spock!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, turning his attention back to the doctor. “I said you’re good to go, Spock. I’ll have M’Benga double-check your readings when he gets on shift in a little while, but you can leave. Just don’t do anything reckless between now and then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he been less distracted, Spock would have raised an eyebrow at the comment. When he did not respond with anything other than a brisk nod, McCoy frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I miss somethin’?” He questioned, a trace of concern lying just beneath the gruff surface of his words. “That look is somethin’ along the lines of ‘there’s a problem here’, if I’m reading you right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May I speak with you in private, Doctor?” Spock asked in lieu of an answer. If the ensign was intentionally harming herself, it was his duty to report it to a medical officer. If there was some other factor at play, however, McCoy would be the most likely person to know the circumstances.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The frown deepened. “Of course. Is this somethin’ I need to call Jim about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock shook his head. “There is no reason to disturb the captain at this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>McCoy studied him for a few moments, eyes scanning his face several times before nodding. “All right then, follow me.” They crossed the sickbay and stepped inside the doctor’s office, the door sliding closed behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a question regarding the behavior of Ensign Calloway,” Spock said, falling into parade rest as the doctor leaned back against his desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>McCoy blinked. “The one laid up with a broken leg? What about her? She was fine when I checked on her before you came in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden sense of unease washed over Spock. Perhaps his decision to consult with the doctor was an illogical one. He was aware enough of himself to know there were several human customs which he knew little about, and although he doubted this was one of them, the possibility was there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed aside his unease. “While you were performing your examination, I observed her behave in a way that, on Vulcan, would be considered self-harming,” he explained carefully. The doctor’s eyes widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Self-harming?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. The ensign was biting her nails.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>McCoy’s tense shoulders relaxed and he let out a relieved breath. “That’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “Although I suppose it makes sense that it would be on Vulcan, what with your hand sensitivity and all. For humans it’s more of a nervous reaction than anything else. There are times it can be harmful—if someone bites down to the bed of their nails, for example—but generally it just causes aesthetic damage and can be a bit uncomfortable for a few days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock nodded, grateful that there was no derisive judgment in the doctor’s voice. Instead, the man looked...pleased. The emotion did not seem to match the situation until McCoy continued, saying, “Thanks for letting me know, Spock. I appreciate you looking out for her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is my duty, Doctor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>McCoy hummed in response, and Spock left the medbay, mind still mulling over the discussion an hour later when he finally settled into his evening meditation. On Vulcan, causing any sort of harm to one’s hands and fingers was considered a grievous gesture of self-destruction. His people’s hands were not only more sensitive than humans, they were also integral to performing mind-melds, and too much damage to them could make performing the ritual difficult or even impossible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts aside as he did so. Once his mind was clear, he began the process of a deeper meditation. He needed his rest after the events of the previous two weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.   .   .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several days later, Spock was sitting across a chess board from Jim. Their habit of playing together every other day had been disrupted during their last mission, and they had just managed to resume the habit the day before. They had both been occupied with extensive reports following the mission and had frequently returned to their shared quarters too exhausted to do anything more than wish one another a restful sleep and collapse on the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Currently, it was Jim’s move, and the man was gazing thoughtfully at the board, chin resting in the palm of his hand. They had received new orders this morning directing them to the planet Cibnea with all haste, and he could read concern in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashayam</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s eyes. His gaze traveled slowly downward, taking in the small crease between Jim’s eyebrows, the weariness in his eyes, the faint downturn of his lips. Then, his eyes trailed down to Jim’s hand, and his concern grew deeper. The edges of his nails were ragged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know I’m taking a while, Spock, but that doesn’t mean you need to look so worried,” Jim stated lightly, pulling Spock from his thoughts. He met Jim’s eyes and saw both amusement and a question there. For a moment, Spock considered confronting Jim about his stress, but he refrained. Their relationship was still new to both of them, and he did not want Jim to believe he was judging him in any way. His job was one full of stressors, and as Doctor McCoy had stated, biting one’s nails was not an uncommon action for humans in response to such an environment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he raised an eyebrow, drawing a laugh from Jim that lightened some of the weight that seemed to have settled in Spock’s chest. Jim moved a rook forward, and their game continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You looked over the mission briefing, right?” Jim asked some time later. Neither of them had made much progress in the match—they were both taking their time setting traps and carefully avoiding them purposefully but silently prolonging the game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he replied, setting down the pawn he had planned to move and meeting Jim’s gaze. “It is an unusual one for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span> to undertake. Our crew does not have extensive experience organizing relief efforts such as the one Cibnea requires.” The planet had lost the majority of its food stores when an unanticipated earthquake of considerable magnitude occurred and triggered a number of other natural disasters. The events had left many homeless and in dire need of aid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim shrugged. “We’re the closest vessel, and our medical and science departments will be able to help out while the rest of us coordinate the incoming supply ships. Starfleet has a good reputation on Cibnea, so seeing the uniforms and the ‘Fleet’s flagship should help boost morale.” His eyes turned distant. “They’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Spock reached across the board, extending two fingers in an </span><em><span>ozh’esta</span></em><span>.</span> <span>Jim met them with his own, and Spock focused on pushing comfort and confidence through their touch. They were not bonded—they had both agreed that it would be logical to test their relationship for at least several months before they bound themselves to one another—but they shared a strong connection, and when they were in contact like this, they could communicate telepathically to some extent.</span></p><p>
  <span>Some of the anxiety in Jim’s mind eased, and Spock felt his own heart lighten when the man smiled softly in the dim light. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock bowed his head in return—he did not have the words to explain that Jim owed him no gratitude, that he could not imagine a universe in which he would not always seek to comfort and protect him—and moved his pawn forward. The game lasted well into the night, but neither minded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.    .    .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three days later, the mission was weighing on the entire crew. They had organized and delivered food to the majority of the planet and were now consulting with the leadership of Cibnea to ensure that this never happened again. The discussions had required extensive research by the science departments aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and as such Spock had not been present on the bridge until the current shift.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The viewscreen flickered off, and Spock watched with concern as Jim slumped against his chair. The man had taken only a few hours each day to rest, and Spock was certain less than half of those hours had been utilized for sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are the other ships doing, Lieutenant Uhura?” Jim asked after a moment, exhaustion heavy in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All report successful deliveries, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ashton</span>
  </em>
  <span> is set to leave in two hours to pick up the famine specialists that Starfleet offered. They should return in two days,” the woman reported, her voice crisp but layered with weariness. The senior crew had all volunteered for extended shifts for the duration of the mission as they were the most qualified to provide aid to the planet in a timely manner. It had been, in Spock’s opinion, the correct decision, but the consequences were beginning to show.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lieutenant. Let the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ashton</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that if they need anything, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span> is at their disposal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Captain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim turned back to the front of the bridge, lifting a PADD from his lap and beginning to go over the information there. Spock’s own PADD buzzed with an incoming report, and he flicked his gaze down to read the designation and source. It was another report about the feasibility of underground food storage in the main cities. He tapped a few times to change the font into something he could read more easily and quickly skimmed the document and typed up a response—the lieutenant who had sent it had forgotten the frequency of earthquakes around a number of Cibnea’s larger cities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as he had finished his report, his attention was once more focused on Jim. The man was still reading his report, and as Spock watched, he began to absentmindedly chew on his nails. Spock repressed the urge to flinch before reminding himself of Doctor McCoy’s words. This was merely a sign of Jim’s stress, not an indication of any desire on his part to commit self-harm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He considered rising to comfort his </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashayam</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but before he could, his PADD buzzed again. He looked down, expecting another report or a response from the lieutenant who had sent the previous one but was met instead with a message from Doctor M’Benga, requesting his presence in Sickbay. Spock glanced over at Jim one last time before rising.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am wanted in sickbay, Captain,” Spock announced, causing Jim to turn to him. “I will send for Lieutenant Sanchez to replace me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim blinked, the words obviously taking a moment to process. Then, he nodded. “Sounds good. There’s only an hour or so of shift left anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were, in fact, fifty-three minutes and twenty-nine seconds left of their shift, but Spock refrained from stating as much aloud. Instead, he stepped forward and placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder, pushing reassurance and comfort and the desire that he rest through their contact before drawing away. The turbolift doors opened and closed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.   .   .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Spock returned to their quarters that evening, it was late, even by his standards. Doctor M’Benga had wanted his opinion on how best to treat the inhabitants of the planet who had become malnourished. Their physiology was more similar to his own than to a human’s, and Spock had quickly become involved in creating a treatment plan that would be both effective for the population and be able to occur rapidly on a large scale. It was 03:00 by the time either of them realized how late it had become and handed the project over to the next rotation of medical staff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still mentally reviewing possible delivery methods when he opened the door to their quarters and stopped. The light was still on. Had Jim been so exhausted he forgot to turn off the light?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped inside, the door hissing shut behind him. The sitting area of the quarters was empty, so he made his way past the divider and into their bedroom. There was Jim, sitting up in their bed, PADD propped up against his knees and one finger in his mouth as he absently chewed on the nail there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock quickly crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed facing Jim, who looked up with a start. “Oh, hi, Spock, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should be sleeping </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashayam</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Spock said, carefully wrapping one hand around Jim’s wrist and pulling it from his mouth. He had intended to then take the man’s PADD but froze. Three of the five nails on Jim’s hand had been bitten so far down that the beds were bleeding. His grip tightened instinctively, and he had to take a deep breath before he could convince his muscles to relax and place Jim’s hand on the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked up, but Jim refused to meet his eyes, and through their contact he could sense shame and fear from him. He tried to project comfort through the touch and then stood. “I will return soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took him only forty-seven seconds to cross to the ‘fresher, locate the dermal regenerator they stored there, and return to Jim’s side. By then, Jim had drawn his knees up to his chest and was staring at a spot on the wall, eyes glazed. Spock sat carefully, making sure that when he moved, Jim could see his hands as he picked up one of Jim’s and began to run the dermal regenerator over it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither of them spoke as Spock worked, but they were not truly silent either, Jim’s emotions—fear, shame, regret, discomfort, love, gratitude—bleeding into Spock’s mind and Spock attempting to provide both mental and physical relief. Eventually, he finished his task and returned Jim’s hands to the bed, the skin freshly healed. It would take time for the nails themselves to grow back, but they should not cause Jim much discomfort in the meantime.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you wish me to spend the night in my own quarters?” Spock asked eventually, breaking the not-silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim hesitated then shook his head. “You can stay, if you want.” His voice was soft and weary, heavy with the weight of the past several days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” Spock stood from the bed and crossed to the wardrobe, quickly removing his sleeping robe and changing. Then, he returned to the bed to find Jim turned on his side, the covers pulled up nearly to his ears. His eyes, however, were open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock carefully climbed into the bed and slipped under his portion of the covers, turning so that he was facing Jim. After a moment of hesitation, he took one of Jim’s hands and laid it over his heart, allowing Jim to feel the steady beats. Jim took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, his hand tightening for a moment before laying loose once again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he whispered, his tired eyes finally meeting Spock’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine has multiple definitions,” Spock replied, his voice equally quiet. “You are exhausted and stressed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashayam</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim didn’t deny it. Instead, he shifted until his head was resting on Spock’s shoulder, the hand not over Spock’s heart finding one of Spock’s and intertwining their fingers gently. “This mission has been...hard,” he said into the darkness. “A planet-wide famine like this brings back memories, ones I’d rather forget. I picked up the habit of biting my nails on Tarsus, a mixture of stress and nerves and having nothing to eat, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock’s grip on Jim’s hand tightened. He had suspected that Jim’s behavior might be connected to his experience on Tarsus IV, but the reminder that Jim had endured what he had sent pain lancing through his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is...a disconcerting habit to observe,” Spock admitted, whispering the words into Jim’s hair. “I am aware the connotation is not as severe for humans as it is for Vulcans, however, seeing you injured…” He trailed away, unable to express in words the particular knot of emotions that sat in his mind currently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim, thankfully, seemed to understand as he so often did. He turned so that they were face to face once more. “Hey, it’s okay, Spock. I’ve been in a bad headspace these past few days, and I probably will be until this mission’s over, but I’m okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spock nodded and leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. “In the morning, perhaps we could look for alternative coping mechanisms?” he suggested and felt Jim’s lips brush his as he smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing. I’ve been meaning to ask Rand about getting a fidget cube for a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They fell into silence after that, Jim’s breathing leveling out to the point that Spock had thought him asleep until the silence was broken by Jim’s sleep-heavy whisper. “Thanks, Spock, for caring about me. And taking care of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hundred sun-bright emotions rose to the forefront of Spock’s mind. “Always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashayam</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now sleep.” He leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on Jim’s forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Always</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thoughts? Thanks for reading...whatever that was lol. I live off of comments, so if you have a few moments let me know what you thought.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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